


I Want My Wife

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Episode: S02E11 - Service, F/M, Hair-pulling, Implied Rape/Non-con, Nude Photos, Office Sex, Rating: NC17, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, doggystyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's go home..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want My Wife

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the dialogue accentuated with bold. That dialogue belongs to Kurt Sutter and the Sons of Anarchy franchise.
> 
> This is just my take on what Kurt Sutter didn't show us at the end of S02E11 with Clay and Gemma's reconciliation. I know at that point, the Sons was still young and they couldn't show very many sex scenes in a season, but I really wish they would've put this in as Clay and Gemma's. 
> 
> Now I know it's probably not what Kurt would've envisioned for the scene, but it feels right. I feel like if I didn't hit the nail on the head, I at least got close to home.

**_She needs to know you still love her._ **

**_Gemma -- thing causing her the most pain is thinking you don't want her anymore._ **

There was nothing that could turn his world upside down like those words. After Tig's little confession, Clay felt more in heart besides burning guilt and an even bigger, burning need to make up for it.

For the past few weeks, he’d been treating her like shit because he didn’t understand why she was acting the way she was. He had begun to resent her for something he didn’t know about, and it shined through. At first, he’d chalked it up to the menopause and he’d tried to give her the space she needed - he remembered his mother going through menopause, and he remembered the demon she became when it happened. But it became more and _more_ frustrating - especially since she began holding out on him in the sexual department, and Gemma _never_ denied a request for sex. She’d always been just as eager for it as he was - and sometimes, he just couldn’t help it. It became too much for him to deal with.

At that point, he began to take out all his frustrations on her. He more than her car - he destroyed their marriage. Admittedly, that was more than a little unfair. Especially to Gemma, who apparently had already been going through so much without his knowing.

After finding out about what happened to her, he’d distanced himself - just like she originally distanced herself. Not because he didn’t _want_ her - the strength, wit and sacrifice she’d shown by withholding that piece of information until she was sure it was the right time made him love her even more - but because he didn’t know how to handle her. Clay knew Gemma - strong, sarcastic, quick-witted, and motherly. He didn’t know ‘Gemma’ - weaker, quieter, emotional and distracted. He didn’t want to hurt his wife anymore than he already had - he felt bad enough.

And in the process of trying not to cause more damage, he rubbed salt in her nonhealing wounds. He hurt her in ways he didn’t know he could.

Knowing what he knows now, however - Gemma isn’t going to feel unwanted for a moment longer than he can help it.

The walk towards T-M seems to stretch on for an eternity, but Clay eventually makes it to the office. He stops briefly just outside and gives himself a chance to get his breathing together. He can see her silhouette in the cast of light filtering out from the small little cubicle-like room, and for just a split second, a cloud of doubt falls over his mind. _What if Tig was wrong? What if she was the one who didn’t want him after what happened?_

But none of that is actually plausible, so Clay gets the rest of himself together and slips towards the office. He leans casually in the doorway and watches her work for a few moments before finding his voice.

 **“Let’s go home,”** he says, although it’s not much of a suggestion. Gemma turns briefly, and there’s a flash of nervousness in her gorgeous hazel eyes before she turns back around and goes back to filtering through papers. Her brow furrows deeply and she feigns as if she’s looking for something.

 **“Oh, honey, I should catch up,”** she says hastily, hoping he would just take the excuse like usual and go. Clay quirks an eyebrow. **“We’ll be buried.”**

More than slightly fed up with her excuses to get out of spending time with him, and now more informed than he was previously, Clay decides he isn’t going to back down this time. Lately, he’d been doing everything to please her by simply staying out of her way. He was sick of taking the easy way out - now he was going to take back what was his.

**“Fine.”**

Clay slams the door behind him - barely pausing to lock it - and heads over to the desk. It’s piled high with papers, documents, and other miscellaneous shit - which doesn’t make any sense, considering she’d spent the last few weeks of her free time filing and filling out lists of documents and forms. A mild effort of trying to get the office back in shape.

The junk falls to the floor unceremoniously, and Gemma’s immediate instinct is to save all of her precious hard work. She steps towards the desk, frustration already marring her beautiful features.

 **“What the hell’s the matter with you?”** she asks, although there’s surprisingly no malice to the question. She stares at him like he’s lost his mind, but Clay knows deep in his chest that he just found it.

He grabs her by the arms and hoists her onto the now somewhat bare desk - as gently and yet firmly as possible. There’s obvious shock and fear in her eyes, but this time there’s something _new_. Something he hasn’t seen in awhile. _Lust_.

Being so close to each other after _weeks_ of keeping an appropriate distance was starting to have it’s effect. More often than not, when she snuck away to the living room to sleep, Gemma found her hand travelling into her panties - only to snatch it away when the memories and the pain of what happened became too much, or if she heard Clay coming down the stairs.

Of course, they’d shared hugs and brief kisses, but that had been in non-sexual settings - in front of their family, or on their way to the next new task that arose in their lives - as a way to keep up appearances. Let everyone know that their marriage is okay, that there’s absolutely _nothing_ to worry about.

But now… now that there’s no one watching, and they’re all alone, and it’s been such a long time since they’ve been together intimately…

 **“I want my wife,”** Clay whispers, his lips barely centimeters away from hers.

 _Oh, Clay,_ Gemma can’t help but think, relief flooding her. _It took you forever, but you caught on, baby._

Her breathing picks up a bit as she leans forward, pressing her own lips against his. Compared to his, hers are soft, delicate and very plump. The kiss is hungry and sloppy - as if they’re two teenagers hornily making out for the first time, and not a grown married couple who knew each other’s ins and outs like the back of their hands. There’s biting and bruising that neither of them had done in a long time, and a passion that their marriage had been missing for a few weeks.

Clay slips his hands between their bodies to open her jacket, his eager hands popping some of the buttons off. Gemma gasps and shoves more clutter to the floor while Clay tugs off his cut - letting it slip unceremoniously to join the rest of the mess on the floor. His mouth attacks hers again, this time running his tongue gently along her bottom lip. She opens up to him in a way that she hasn’t done in a long while and he groans into the contact.

Gemma pulls away from the kiss once more and lays flat on the desk - her hands falling from his back so that she could grip the sides. Clay slips between her legs so that he could cover her body with his own, and deftly begins to work at the button and zipper on her jeans.

“Fuck me, Clay,” Gemma says, in the sexiest, sultriest, most erotic voice he has ever heard pass her lips.

The fabric of Clay’s jeans tighten considerably, and he smirks at her when they do. There’s not much talking after that - no more words need to be said. Thirteen years of marriage had taught the both of them a lot about each other - especially when it came to what the other needed in the bedroom. There’s nothing to be said - nothing that the other doesn’t already know.

The past few weeks had been rocky, but they’re both delighted to come back and find that nothing has changed.

Clay leans forward so his hands can catch the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head, releasing her ample breasts - held by a racy black lace bra. He admires the way the bra makes her tits look, so he leaves it for now - making a private vow to come back for it. While he continues undressing her, he sticks one finger in her mouth, not committing any gentlemanly act of tenderness while he does. He makes sure his wife gets his fingers nice and slick. He knows she’ll already be wet for him - they haven’t had sex in ages - but he wants to draw it out.

Gemma has other ideas though. She undoes the button her jeans and kicks out of them - leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties on the desk. Once undressed, she takes Clay's hand out of her mouth. She eyes his ring finger - eyes the gold band resting there, the symbol of their marriage resting proudly for the world to see - and guides it down, under, then up into her, slow slip-sliding past the hem of her panties to where she's already dripping wet. She presses Clay’s finger into her until she feels the tip of his finger circle beneath her lips and then she pulls him out, trailing wetness with his finger, dragging it up to her clit. She lets go; he keeps going, just like she wants him to.

Two more fingers slip inside her, as Clay is desperate to draw a sound from her. Of course, he gets his wish - the sounds coming out of her mouth become damn near pornographic when the force and the speed picks up. He moves his mouth over hers, bringing her back in for an angry kiss. He rakes her tongue with his teeth, drawing away by pulling her bottom lip with him.

“I don’t need foreplay,” Gemma groans, after about ten minutes of rough finger fucking. “ _C’mon_ , baby.”

Clay pulls pulls out of her dripping cunt and brushes over his zipper with fingers still wet from her. The metal teeth shine in the office lamplight as they pull apart, tooth by tooth. Gemma bites back a shaky breath as he pulls himself out, lips dark as the head in his hand, wet and swollen.

Usually she’d go down on her knees, give him something so he would stop smirking that smug 'oh honey' look every time her eyes widened at his size. In the weeks it’d been since they’d been together, she’d forgotten just how big he actually was.

Instead of going down on him though, Gemma flips around on the desk so that she’s offering up her tart ass. Clay steps forward and pins her arms behind her back - clasping them together in one fist.

“You’re a damn _minx_ , Gem. You know that baby?” She hums in reply and tells him to hurry the fuck up - to stop screwing around because she’s so fucking wet and horny and oh god, how long has it _really been_ since she’s had good sex?

Clay massages her bottom as he rubs his tip along her entrance, gives her a few teasing smacks that make the flesh there burn a bright red. When he’s satisfied with the picture he’s made of her backside, he pushes in. Gemma hisses and her nails scrape at the desk before she responds by pushing herself further down on his length.

He too gives his own groan of pleasure, because she's so damn _tight_ and it feels so _good_ to have her back. Growling her name, he presses harder against her and she twists around to get a glimpse of him. The expression on his face can only be described as bliss.

She spreads her legs a bit further, continues looking over her shoulder and doesn't say a word. Eyes say what needs saying, and that's just the dynamics of their relationship. It takes a second for Clay to set a good pace - sparing a glance at her whenever he picks up a little speed. The heel of his hand steadies the small of her back, pushing down for an arch.

Gemma pushes against Clay, needy for more while he fills her, spreading her wide. He knots his fist in her blonde streaked locks and tugs - hard enough to elicit a gasp of pleasure, but never hard enough to hurt her. His breath leaves a trail of heat on her neck that shoots right down her spine, meets the heat of his balls slapping lewdly against her thighs as he moves in quicker and harder thrusts. The friction and intensity of it all is fanning a spark through her body.

Clay takes his hand from the small of her back and uses it to dance a few fingers on the outside of her folds while he fucks her. His main focus is getting her off - bringing her pleasure from minor pains. She pushes herself on him in response, pushes her hand between her legs to guide his. Their fingers twine, tips rippling over her clit, as Gemma urges him to rub harder. He has no problem doing as told.

When she's there, when the world drops out of view and it’s just her and him and a beautiful tranquility to define her orgasm - she shudders and clenches around him. He fucks her through it but he's coming with her - his head tossed back and his eyes wrenched shut as the moment swallows him whole.

Their names are on each other’s lips like prayer. Probably because they were each other’s savior.

Spent and thoroughly satisfied, Clay waits a few minutes before carefully sliding out - giving her a few final smacks to her backside as he does. He steps back to admire the vision of his wife bent over the desk - Gemma’s legs spread wide, her pale skin glistening with sweat, her tight ass sporting angry red handprints, and her pretty little cunt posed nice for him. It’s almost like looking at one of Luann’s cover spreads for her movies.

Getting a naughty idea, Clay picks up his phone from where it had fell out of his jeans and clicks the camera app. He snaps a few shots of his wife before tucking his phone back into his pocket and collapsing in the chair by the desk.

“Taking pictures to remember me by?” Gemma asks tiredly, peering at him with shining hazel eyes.

“You know it, baby girl. You alright - you haven’t moved an inch.”

There’s a pregnant pause of silence before Gemma gives a light, airy giggle and whispers, “I don’t think I can.”

A smug expression forms on her husband’s face and she rolls her eyes. It takes a few moments, but eventually Gemma finds the energy to pull herself away from the - now sticky - desk and begin redressing. Clay watches her get dressed with that same amused, smug, satisfied look on his face - as if Christmas had come early, even though he knew he deserved charcoal. Gemma can’t help but feel a surge to her own ego when his face falls after she buttons her blazer back up - he really did still think she was sexy.

Once she’s dressed, Clay opens his arms and she willingly falls into his lap. She tosses her legs over one armrest of the chair and presses her back against the other so that he could still see her when he spoke. It’s a bit cramped and awkward and Gemma’s subconscious is nagging her about the sticky wet feeling she has in her panties, but she can feel her husbands still hard erection pressing against her backside and there’s lust in his eyes for the first time in a long time so it’s _good_.

“I’m not going to be able to look at this desk with a straight face tomorrow,” Gemma complains, dragging her nails gently across the stubble on his jaw. Clay gathers her hair into a free hand, twisting it into his palm and raising it against the back of her head. It was one of his post-coital habits of his - tangling up her hair even more than it was already tangled.

“You’re not going to be able to look at this desk at all tomorrow,” Clay scoffs. “Tonight… tomorrow… baby, it’s all you. God, you’re gonna be fucked so thoroughly by the time Friday rolls around that you’re going to be slurring your words.”

“You gonna make a promise on that, cowboy?” she asks, her voice light. Clay turns his head to kiss the inside of her palm and rest his cheek against it.

“Bet your sweet ass I am,” he whispers, before lifting her bridal style and heading towards the door.

_(It’s not until Thursday night, when she’s curled against his side and trying to catch her breath that she comes to a warm, yet very shocking realization._

_She was able to **have sex** with her **husband** \- and even **sleep** at night, curled into his side with his strong muscled arms wrapped around her - without thinking about any of her assailants. So maybe Clay’s **service** was to save her from herself that night - **and every night before and after**.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Bold at the beginning means dialogue that belongs to Kurt. Bold at the ending means words in dialogue that would've been italicized had they not already been italicized.


End file.
